The Screaming Boat
by Alexandra Dos Santos

Screams went by like a smear in the night. They coasted the East River, that green mirror reflecting skyscrapers that looked like hanged corpses in the water. Scruff sat on the Astoria Park rocks alone, as she always was, watching the machines churn up waves. She’d sit and watch water taxis shuttle quiet shadows after dark, and booze cruise flash LED lights to a steady dance bass. But Scruff never heard a boat scream before, especially from a boat this far away. It drew closer and louder.  It wasn’t the roar of a rowdy party; their voices twisted backwards and sideways, locking together into a writhing behemoth. Scruff could almost see it before her eyes—that sound made manifest. But then it went away, and she just saw the boat. In front of her, finally clear, she recognized it.